


The Dinner Party

by Kissy



Category: Final Fantasy XII
Genre: F/M, Funny, Parody, Silly, WAFF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-11
Updated: 2014-06-11
Packaged: 2018-02-04 05:35:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1767406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kissy/pseuds/Kissy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Treacle tarts have never been sexier.  No, really.  Silly, irreverent story about the Speshul Six and their terrible table manners.  Rated for sensuality, and mild adult themes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Dinner Party

Part 1: Sweet Homecoming

Ashe stood at her balustrade and surveyed that which she ruled. She smiled. It took wading through rivers of blood to get here, but she did make it thanks to her friends. Speaking of…

A young page strode out onto the balcony, and announced her visitors at top volume. “Your Majesty! I do hereby announce Prince Regent Larsa and Judge Magister Gabranth!”

She glanced witheringly at the servant. “How many times have I told you to stop doing that?”

“Sorry. Your friends are here, Majesty.” He bowed deeply, and scampered from the room.

She watched him go, and looked up, smiling, as Larsa and Basch joined her at the balcony. Larsa bowed to her. “Lady Ashe. You were lovely at the coronation today. I must extend my sincere congratulations…”

“Larsa…hush. Come here and give me a hug.” 

He beamed and did as he was told. Ashe glanced at Basch over Larsa’s ebon head, and grinned. “Welcome back, Basch.”

He took his helmet off, and Ashe’s smile widened. He had cut his hair, she saw. He looked just like Noah, despite his scarred countenance. It hurt her heart a little to see Basch in the guise of his brother, but she did have to admit…he looked good.

She smiled approvingly. “You clean up nicely, Basch.”

Without turning a hair, he knelt before Ashe, and took her hand. “My thanks. Majesty.” He brought her hand to his lips, and did something Ashe never expected. The corners of his mouth curled. “You’re not so bad, yourself.” Before he could brush the back of her hand with a perfunctory kiss, he turned her hand over and tenderly kissed her palm. He rose, and smiled again. “It’s nice to see you.”

Moved, Ashe threw her arms around Basch’s neck. He squeezed the breath from her in a fierce embrace, and just as quickly stepped away. He crimsoned as he cleared his throat. “Are we the first to arrive?”

“Yes. Vaan went to find Balthier and Fran, and he sent word recently that he has a grand surprise for us. I can’t imagine what it is. Do you know?”

Basch’s grin widened. “Oh, yes. I most certainly do.”

“Fran wrote to us, so we already know what the surprise is,” said Larsa. “I can’t wait until you see!”

“I’m almost afraid to,” said Ashe. 

The page re-appeared. “Your Majesty! I do hereby announce…” Ashe frowned at the page, and he quickly changed tone. “Penelo’s here, Highness.”

“Wonderful!” She turned away from the balustrade, and smiled broadly at Penelo. She looked so grown up, so beautiful. Ashe ran to her, and hugged her tightly. “Look at you! You're lovely!” Ashe held her at arm’s length, and squeezed her fingers lightly. She winked at Penelo. “The life of a sky pirate suits you, I see.”

Penelo preened unconsciously. “Aw, you’re just saying that!”

Ashe looked to the door. “Where’s Vaan?”

“He’s at the Aerodrome…he’ll be here soon.” She released Ashe and strode to Basch and Larsa. She bobbed a curtsy at the future Emperor before she embraced him. Penelo kissed Larsa’s cheek, and smiled warmly. “It’s nice to see you, Lord Larsa!”

Larsa turned a violent scarlet as he shifted his gaze to his shuffling feet. “Larsa…just Larsa is fine, Penelo.”

She grinned impishly at Larsa as she slipped her arm through Basch’s elbow. “And how are you, _Uncle?_ ”

He smirked, even as he shuddered at the honorific. “Fine.” 

The page appeared once again. He glanced at Ashe, who crossed her arms and waited expectantly for his loud screech. He shrugged, and hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “Your other buddies are here, lady. You want me to let ‘em in?”

Aghast, Ashe pointed to the door. “Out!”

The page sighed, as he passed Vaan, Balthier, and Fran in the hallway. “I can’t win.”

-=-=-=-=-=-

The last of their circle of friends arrived, and sweet embraces and hearty handshakes strengthened old friendships. Basch clapped Balthier on the shoulder. “Congratulations are in order, aren’t they?”

Balthier frowned distractedly. “Not for me, they aren’t. He jerked his head at the door. “Save those congratulations for the one who deserves them.”

Basch tilted his head at the mountainous, pregnant Viera that stood in the doorway. She glanced down at him, and beamed. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it, Captain?”

The Judge Magister's jaw thumped to his breastbone. “ _Fran?_ Is that really you?”

She grinned again. “Last time I checked, I was.” She sauntered over to a speechless Ashe for hugs.

Larsa elbowed Basch in the side. “What’s the matter? How in the world did you _not_ recognize Fran?”

“ _Tcha._ I recognized her, and I knew she was pregnant,” said Basch, “but I didn’t expect her to be _that_ big.”

Larsa shrugged. “Pregnancy does that.”

Larsa's blond bodyguard crimsoned. “Lord Larsa, I know the mechanics of pregnancy, all right?”

“Then what’s the problem, Judge Magister?” Larsa couldn’t help but grin at Basch.

Basch grimaced. “She eclipsed the _sun!_ ”

“Yes, she’s just about ready to pop,” said Balthier testily. “There’ll be another little Viera running around before the month is up.”

“You mean Viera-Hume, don’t you?” Larsa glanced at Fran’s belly. “That _is_ what you meant, isn’t it?”

Balthier compressed his mouth to a thin line. “No.”

Basch’s eyebrows drew together quizzically. “What happened?”

Balthier shook himself visibly, and clapped Basch on the back. “We’ll leave that bedtime story for after dinner, all right?”

“Great idea…I’m starving!” Fran rubbed her belly. “She is, too!”

A different page appeared. “Dinner is served.”

Relieved, Ashe clapped her hands briskly. “Well, then…what are we waiting for?”

Part 2: The War of the Treacle Tarts

They sat at a lovely oaken table, which had been loaded down with food. Everyone glanced at Ashe expectantly. Ashe looked back blandly. “Well, don’t stand on ceremony…dig in!”

Basch grinned, and grabbed a potato with one hand and a serving spoon with the other. Ashe smiled sweetly at him, but she grimaced inside. She knew what his appetite was like, and she could only imagine just how he would grace them with one spectacle or another.

“Now _that’s_ what I’m talking about!” Fran drooled over the mammoth spread. She grabbed two serving spoons (one for each hand) and began loading food onto her plate. 

“Fair warning, people…this is where it gets ugly,” said Balthier. “She’s a regular machine.”

“I don’t know about that,” said Larsa. “I’ve seen Basch eat. He frightens _everyone._ ”

“Oh, come now,” said Basch. “We’re all hungry.” He grabbed a turkey leg from the giant bird, and tore it from the carcass. It made a gristly ripping sound. He grinned at Fran. “Right?”

Fran beamed at Basch. “Just so!” She hefted her knife and fork, and stared at her heaped plate with avarice. 

“Dueling Bottomless Pits…this ought to be interesting,” said Larsa to no one in particular.

Basch bit into the turkey leg, and tore a chunk of meat from it just as Fran fell to her meal. He stopped in mid-chew and blinked at her in surprise…and then incredulity. “Holy Hannah,” he said.

Ashe took one look at Fran, and dropped her fork. It fell into her water goblet. “Good God. Is that even possible?”

“Oh, it’s possible,” said Balthier. “All too possible.” He grabbed a bread roll and savagely tore a bite out of it. He crossed his arms and turned away from the carnage of Fran’s voracity. He mumbled around his food. “It’ll only get worse.”

Basch resumed chewing, almost reflectively. “And I thought _I_ had a insatiable appetite.” He swallowed and grabbed his wineglass, when his jaw thumped stupidly to his chest. Fran had finished her first plate, and attacked the steaming tureens once more. 

When Fran assaulted Overflowing Dish Number Two, Vaan elbowed Penelo and laughed. “This ought to be fun.”

Penelo got the last laugh when she punched Vaan in the head. “Cut it out, half-wit! She’s in a family way. It’s only natural she’d eat like…uh…”

“Like she’s starving?” Vaan massaged the lump that rose on his head. 

“The little one takes whatever she needs from my body...so I suppose I _am_ starving. I’m eating for myself, not her,” Fran said, as she loaded a mountain of mashed potatoes onto her plate. She grabbed the gravy boat and poured the entire thing on the mound of potatoes.

Ashe pushed her own plate away. Her face turned a sick shade of green. “I’m done.”

Basch shrugged off his momentary astonishment, and loaded his plate. “It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.” He popped an entire sweet dinner-roll into his mouth and mumbled around it. “You ought to grow a thicker skin, Lady Ashe.”

“Or a stronger stomach,” said Penelo, who pushed her own dinner aside.

Basch finished his food, and reloaded his plate. Fran followed suit soon after. One by one, all the other dinner guests pushed their dinners aside in disgust. 

Vaan rubbed his nose, and cackled. “Cool…dinner _and_ a show.”

-=-=-=-=-=-

After dinner, the harried attendants served dessert, which Basch and Fran fell to with gusto. No one else bothered with the sweets. They sat, morbidly engrossed with the consumption (and consequent mauling) of the Linzer tarts and Black Forest cake and chocolate mousse. 

Basch grabbed a chocolate chip cookie, and beneath it was a mini treacle tart. He brightened. “Well! I love treacle!” He made a grab for it.

Fran’s face became a thundercloud. She stood without warning, and stabbed Basch’s hand with her fork. He also stood suddenly, his eyes bulging. Basch's mouth opened. “ _Bugger me!_ ” he exclaimed. 

He snatched his hand away, glared at Fran…and then stared at the rest of the dinner guests when the room became deathly silent. Ashe’s face was parchment-white, and her jaw hung to the bodice of her dress. Humiliated, he glared at Fran again. “Fran…what the…”

 _“Mine,”_ she growled.

He narrowed his eyes at Fran as she made a grab for the tiny tart. He grimaced, and a small throbbing vein appeared over his right eye. He grabbed his spoon, and rapped her knuckles with it.

She yipped and massaged her hand. They scowled at each other over the lowly treacle tart. They each grabbed their forks and stabbed the poor pastry. 

“Give me the damned thing!” Basch grated, pulling his fork towards himself. The treacle tart slid in his direction.

“Have you gone dead between the ears?” Fran pulled her fork back, and the tart reversed direction. “I crave these pastries. Give it to me!”

“This won’t end well,” said Larsa, as he brought his teacup to his lips.

They each put their weight into the treacle tart tug-of-war. Unfortunately, as breaking strain wasn’t considered when treacle tarts were designed, the poor dessert item snapped in half. Basch and Fran went sprawling (Basch actually landed in his chair, which detonated like a bomb). The two treacle tart halves sailed through the air, on a collision course with the Queen. She had little time to react. When they hit Ashe, one half glued itself to her face with a juicy _splat,_ and the other half wedged itself in her cleavage. 

She quietly drew her napkin from her lap, and deposited it on her dessert-plate. “And on that note, I think dinner is over,” she said colorlessly.

Vaan snorted. “Forget what I said earlier…dinner theater has _nothing_ on this!”

Part 3: Weepytime

After the disastrous supper, everyone retired to the balcony (everyone except Ashe, who needed to clean herself up a bit). Here, the entire city could be viewed in all its splendor. Basch glanced at Balthier, and inclined his chin. “So, do you want to tell me what's going on?”

Balthier smiled wanly (and a wee bit as ersatz as powdered milk), and hooked an arm around Basch’s neck. “Come here. I’ll tell you if you come with me.”

They walked through the balcony doors and Balthier’s arm tightened around Basch's neck. “ _Help meeee!_ ” he said, under his breath, to the hapless Judge.

Basch shook free of Balthier’s choking, encircling arm. “ _Gah_...what’s _wrong_ with you?”

Balthier swept his arm at the balcony door. “What’s _wrong?_ She’s gone completely _crazy_ , she has!”

Basch raised his hands. “Who…Fran?”

“Yeah!” Balthier moved closer to Basch. “She’s driving _me_ crazy. I can’t keep the girl fed. She eats everything in sight. She has these horrible mood swings – one moment she is as happy as a pig in mud, and the next she wants to kill me. And…” Balthier glanced nervously over his shoulder. “All she wants is sex.”

Rolling his eyes outrageously, Basch clucked his tongue in mock-sympathy. “You poor, poor man.”

“Shut up,” said Balthier, as he made a slightly obscene gesture in Basch's direction. “I have to check to see if it’s still there sometimes. She’s going to wear me out one day.” 

“You have one more month at the most, Balthier. Suck it up.”

Balthier pinched the bridge of his nose, and sighed. “I’m not going to _last_ another month. She humiliates me almost every time I take her out in public.” He gestured to the dining room. “Did you _not_ see what she did tonight? Eh, never mind – you didn’t help matters much by encouraging her.”

Basch gazed at the floor to hide the tiny smile that spread across his face. When he got himself under control, he shrugged his broad shoulders. “’Twill be over soon. Then all you’ll have to worry about is a baby.” He shook his head. “Honestly…you’ll have even more responsibilities after she’s here.”

Balthier crossed his arms pensively. “I’m not sure that’ll happen.”

“All right, enough of this cloak-and-dagger nonsense,” said Basch. “What the hell is going on? You promised you’d tell me.”

Balthier glowered for a moment, before he dropped his hands and sighed. “I told you that her child is not Viera-Hume.”

“Yes,” said Basch. “Was there some treachery involved?” His face darkened. “She wasn't violated, was she?”

“No, nothing like that” said Balthier, waving away Basch's concerns. “A little over a year ago, her time had come. Viera become fertile at a certain time in their lives.”

“And at what age does that happen?” Basch grinned. “Not that you’d tell me, for Fran’s sake. She’s touchy about her age.”

“That she is, and I won’t tell you…because Fran would get wind of it somehow, and tan my hide for telling you.” The menfolk chuckled, and shuddered minutely. They both knew what Fran was capable of if she got it in her head to dole out justice.

Basch sobered. “So why is Fran’s child a pure Viera? Why wouldn’t it be a mixed race child?”

Balthier hung his head a moment. “Because if we tried to produce offspring, there would be a rather large chance that the child wouldn’t come to be at all. This opportunity comes once or twice in a Viera’s lifetime, and I didn’t want her to miss out on it. We spoke on it for a long time, before I took her back to her village.”

“Balthier…I’ve been to her village,” said Basch. “And all the times I’ve been there, never once did I see a _male_ Viera.”

“They live separately, the males and females.” Balthier stared incredulously at Basch. “How in blazes do you think they reproduce? Magick?”

He tilted his head to one side. “I suppose I did.” Basch shrugged his shoulders gamely. “They are rather fey creatures, aren’t they?”

“That they are.” He continued his recount. “When we arrived, Jote directed us to the other village, where Fran found a willing participant. I left them alone so they could have privacy.” He frowned distractedly. “I left her there for a week, and when I went to collect her…well, there you are.”

Basch clasped his friend’s arm. “I’m sorry for you, but I’m impressed by your selflessness.”

“I wish I could have been selfish in this respect – but if I was, there might not have been a child to begin with.” Balthier ran his fingers through his cropped hair. “What kind of parent can I be to a child that is not mine?”

“I’m sorry,” repeated Basch, as he folded his hands behind his back. “But when you said that the child wouldn’t be your responsibility…what did you mean by that?”

Balthier pursed his lips. “Fran might bring the child to the Village after its birth, to be raised by her clan. So she can ‘hear the voice of the wood’, as she puts it.”

“Gods.” Basch spread his hands in commiseration. “Do you get a say?”

Balthier shrugged angrily. “Why would I? The child is not mine, nor is Fran for that matter. She has autonomy. The final decision is hers.”

“Things have a way of working out for themselves, Balthier,” said Basch. “Keep faith that it will be the same with you and Fran and the little one.”

“One could only hope,” said Balthier, before Fran’s voice drifted to them from the balcony.

“Balthier? Come here…the baby moves!”

-=-=-=-=-=-

Fran sat on a divan and regaled the others with tales of her eighteen-month-long pregnancy, and as Balthier predicted, some of her stories were quite humiliating. As the men returned from the hallway, Fran beamed at them. “I’m telling the others about the first time the little one spoke.”

Basch blinked once. “Doesn’t that typically happen _after_ the babe is born?”

“Typically,” said Balthier, “but this is a Viera we’re talking about. Fey, remember?”

Penelo laid her hand on Fran’s shoulder. “So what happened?”

Fran drew herself to her full height, pleased that she was the center of attention. “’Twas two months ago, at most. Balthier was in the middle of giving me a tummy-rub, and…”

-=-=-=-=-=-

Six weeks prior to the dinner party, Balthier and Fran stopped at Balfonheim Port to get some much-needed rest. They checked in to a local boarding house for the night, but Fran was queasy from the pervasive stench of fish and rotting bait. In their tiny _boudoir_ , Balthier rubbed her belly, and groaned inwardly.

He grated his teeth. “How much longer must I rub your belly, Fran?”

She made a moue. “When the little one stops saying hello to my liver, all right? I’m really sick to my stomach.”

“Fine.” Balthier shifted on the bed, and propped his weight on his free hand. “But you’re always sick to your stomach…and I’ve been at this for two hours, Fran!”

She crossed her arms. “If you don’t want to, fine. I just want the attention from you. I miss your attentions.”

He stopped his ministrations, and pulled Fran close. “I know that. And I’m sorry I’ve been so insufferable. This is still very unsettling, you know?”

She nuzzled his cheek. “Is this about the little one’s parentage?”

He shrugged and nodded, an odd combination. “I suppose so. I don’t know what you want to do once she is born, but for now I can’t bond to a baby that might not be around for very long.” He laid his head on her belly as he wrapped his arms around Fran. “And believe me when I say I want to.”

Fran ran her fingers through Balthier’s hair. “She does, too.”

Balthier looked up into her shining eyes. “You…talk to her?”

She grinned. “Of course I do. She and I share life-force…why in the world _wouldn’t_ I hear her?”

“I guess you’re right,” he said. “You talk to her on a regular basis?”

“All the time,” she replied. “For a few months now, I suppose.”

Balthier smiled, a trifle sadly. “I’m jealous.”

She giggled. “Don’t be. She’ll…” She stopped suddenly, and gasped. Fran looked down at Balthier, who wore an expression of stupefied astonishment. “Oh!”

Balthier found his voice. It was hushed and a bit unsteady. “Did…did she just say _hello_ to me?”

Fran covered her mouth with both hands, and nodded. “Oh,” she repeated, “she did!”

Balthier turned his cheek, and nuzzled Fran’s belly. He smiled broadly. “She talked to me!”

-=-=-=-=-=-

Balthier sat himself next to Fran, as she wove her tale of the little one’s first communication. He placed his hand over her belly. She covered his hand with hers.

Penelo grinned. “So then what happened?”

Fran gazed lovingly at Balthier, before favoring Penelo with a savage grin. “Oh…Balthier _bawled!_ He cried so hard he soaked the belly of my dress!”

Balthier gawped at Fran. “That happened in private, Fran!”

She gazed fondly at Balthier. “I know. I have something to tell you.”

He scowled at her. “What?”

She rubbed her belly. “I’ve made my decision. She stays with us.”

“She…” Balthier blinked at Fran. “Really?”

“Really-really.” She ran her fingers down his cheek.

“Time for bed, everyone,” said Penelo. Let’s leave these two alone.”

Everyone exited the balcony, and left the happy family to themselves. As Basch shut the French doors, he heard Fran exclaim to Balthier: “Oh, not again! You’re getting my dress all wet!”

Part 4: Have Another Cookie

Later that night, Ashe shuffled her way to the kitchens in her nightgown and bathrobe. She was starving, as she ate next to nothing at dinner. After unloading the half-empty tureens from the cold-larder, Ashe piled a plate high with turkey as she stuffed a sweet dinner-roll in her mouth. She swung around when something behind her made a shuffling noise.

Basch stood there in his half-unbuttoned nightshirt. When she was able to take her eyes off his body, Ashe placed her hands on her own hips. “What are you doing wandering around half naked at midnight, Captain?”

Basch shrugged. “The same reason you were. I’m starving.”

She laughed. “I don’t know why _you’re_ starving. You and Fran put everyone off their supper.”

He scratched his bewhiskered chin. “Not me. Fran ate so damned much…she didn’t leave all that much _for_ me.” Basch gaped at the state of disarrangement by the sink. There were used plates and silverware everywhere. Fine crystal winked at him from every inch of counter-top. “Good Lord. I pity the poor servant that has to wash those dishes.”

Ashe grinned at her stalwart friend. “Aren’t you a knight, Sir Knight? Perform a knightly task. I’ll even help you...a little.”

Basch smiled sweetly at Ashe. “You mean this?” He motioned to the disarray by the sinks. “Absolutely not.”

She smirked in return, unable to stop her eyes from wandering along the lines of Basch's body for more than a second. How in the world could _anyone_ eat like he did and remain slim? “I’ll make it worth your while.”

“Oh?” Basch’s eyes gleamed. “Fine, I’ll play the game. I’ll wash, you dry.” He glanced at the mounds of dirty dishes, and grimaced. This wasn’t a knightly task – it was an epic, godlike task. He rolled his sleeves up and dove in. “Soonest begun, soonest done, Majesty.”

-=-=-=-=-=-

Forty-five minutes later, spotless china and gleaming crystal surrounded the pair. Basch wiped his hands on a dishrag, and nodded to himself. “All right. That was…horrifying.”

“Yes, it was.” Ashe sat on the giant island in front of the stoves. She looked at Basch and raised one elegant eyebrow. “You know what I’d like to do now?”

Basch gave her a look of mock-admonishment. “No, but I suppose you’re going to tell me anyway.” 

Ashe grinned down at her hands, folded primly in her lap. “I want to do something tonight. Something I haven’t done in years. You game?”

He cocked his head at the Queen. “Is it what I think it is?”

She tapped a spoon on the edge of the island. “Maybe so.”

He placed one palm on the island, next to Ashe, and leaned close. “Sounds like fun.”

-=-=-=-=-=-

Fran prowled the halls of the castle, in a mad search for treacle tarts. Her keen sense of smell led her to the Northern Wing kitchens. They had to be here. She could sniff out treacle tart from a kilometer away. She reached for the door-handle, and nearly jumped out of her skin when a hand dropped on her shoulder. She whipped her head around, and smacked the offender with one of her ears in the process.

Balthier stood behind her. He ground his teeth, and spat out Viera ear-fur. “I knew I’d find you here. Go back to bed.”

Fran scowled at him. “No. This is where they’re hiding the treacle tarts from me. I want them – no! I _neeeed_ them.” She took Balthier’s shoulders in her taloned hands, and shook him briskly. “You don’t understand!”

From the other side of the kitchen door came a resounding _CRASH!_ Silence descended, followed by a masculine (and very familiar) voice. “Oops,” said the voice. 

“You ought to thank your lucky stars that wasn't Mother’s good china,” chided a second (and also very familiar) feminine voice.

Fran grabbed Balthier’s ear, and dragged his head close to her mouth. “Is that Ashe…and Basch?”

“If I were to venture a guess, Fran, then I’d have to say yes,” said Balthier, _sotto voce._ “Why are we whispering?”

“Shh…listen,” said Fran. 

Inside the kitchen came a rumbling chuckle. “And what would Her Majesty require from her oh-so-valiant Knight in payment for the broken dishes? By the way, if I remember correctly, you owe me something for washing them and everything else in here.”

“Well, it’s a mess again, but all right. Besides, you know what I want. _This._ Give it here.”

Basch sounded aghast. “But I was saving that!”

“For what?” Ashe giggled. “Well, not anymore, you’re not. Give it to me!”

He snickered. “ _Hunh._ If Her Royal Majesty insists.”

There was a brief period of silence, followed by a particularly loud moan of pleasure from Ashe. “Uhm. Now that’s _good._ ”

“Fran,” Balthier warned, “we’re going back to bed, now.”

“Oh, no you don’t,” said Fran. “It sounds like they’re having fun…and to think, Ashe insisted that there wasn’t anything going on between the two of them.” Fran lapsed into silence. She listened to her two friends enjoy each other’s company. She grinned roguishly. “I’m going in. Besides, I can smell treacle tarts in there.”

“Fran, what…?” said Balthier, as Fran strode to the kitchen door. Balthier watched her go. He threw his hands in the air, as he walked away from the potential war about to ensue.

Fran watched him go. She shrugged, threw open the door, and pointed. “Caught you!” she said triumphantly. When she saw what they were doing, her hand dropped to her side and one of her magnificent ears drooped. “Huh?”

Basch looked up as he tore an enormous bite out of a slab of caramel, and Ashe had crammed three-quarters of a serving spoon loaded with bread pudding in her mouth. Ashe cradled the serving bowl that the bread pudding was in. The pair blinked at Fran, and then at each other. Ashe popped the spoon out of her mouth and swallowed with difficulty.

“G’mrnin’,” said Basch. The caramel had cemented his jaws together, so all he could utter was a gravelly mumble.

“Caught us doing _what,_ exactly? We were hungry,” said Ashe, as she licked the side of the spoon.

Fran scratched her cheek with one elegant talon. “Sorry. I assumed too much. I heard you two fooling around in here and I assumed…forgive me.”

“Think nothing of it,” said Basch, as he unstuck his teeth. “We were just enjoying some leftover dessert.” He glanced around the kitchen, which was in shambles again. “I’d offer you some, but it looks like we finished most of it off.”

The gamine grin slid from Fran’s face. “Say _what?_ ”

Ashe frowned at Fran. “We ate it.”

Fran strode to Ashe, and plucked the bowl from her grasp. “You ate _all_ the bread pudding?” She peered into the bowl as if she expected more to materialize. “I wanted some of that!”

Ashe shrugged uneasily. “Sorry, Fran.”

She pushed the bowl back into Ashe’s arms, and approached Basch. “And what about you, hmm? What did you devour?”

He looked at Ashe and pursed his lips in thought. “Well, I ate most of the caramel…and the leftover Linzer cookies…then there were the carrot muffins…the rest of the Black Forest cake…the chocolate chips…”

Fran pressed as close to Basch as her mountainous belly would allow, and snaffled at his hair. He blinked and mouthed _What’s she doing?_ at Ashe, who shook her head. 

Fran gasped harshly, and drew herself to her full height. Basch nearly quailed in her shadow. She pushed her face pugnaciously into his. _“You ate the treacle tarts, didn’t you?”_

“I might’ve had one or two,” he said, and this time he _did_ shrink back a bit. “Am I going to die now?”

“This is _no_ joke,” said Fran. She paced around the pair. “All I want are treacle tarts, dammit!” She sat herself on the floor and burst into hoarse, histrionic sobs. 

Basch sidled behind Ashe. “It _scares_ us.”

She stepped away from Basch and swatted his shoulder. “Knock it off, lummox. All she needs is a hug.” She knelt next to Fran and wrapped her arms around her shaking form. 

Fran stopped crying at once, and grabbed Ashe’s head. She buried her face in Ashe’s hair, and her face darkened. “Don’t tell me…you finished off the chocolate mousse?”

Ashe’s eyebrows vaulted to her hairline. “Remind me to call on you when I want to go truffle hunting.”

_“I wanted that, too!”_

“That’s quite enough, Fran,” said a voice from the doorway. Everyone in attendance turned to behold Balthier. He leaned his shoulder against the doorjamb. “I knew I shouldn’t have left you alone to rampage through the castle. I found something for you.” He entered the kitchen, and held out his hand. Contained therein was a tiny treacle tart.

Fran crowed with delight, and threw her arms around Balthier’s neck. “Thank you, thank you, _thank_ you! Oh, where did you find it?”

He glanced up at his paramour, his lips pressed together sourly. “I found it next door in the larder. You missed it on your last sweep.”

Fran twinkled at Balthier before she snatched the tart out of his hand and made it disappear. She chewed it slowly to savor it, and as she did, she dropped her head on Balthier’s shoulder. He grinned at her, and ran his fingers down her belly. 

Ashe grinned. “Aww.”

“The child will want for nothing, I wager. You’ll be a fine father,” said Basch. 

“I suppose I would…if I _were_ the father,” he said quietly.

“Blood isn’t the only thing that makes a family, Balthier,” said Fran. 

He smiled again. “You’re right. As always, Darling.”

Her smirk gleamed in the semi-gloom. “I know.”

Balthier chuckled as he steered her to the doorway. “Shall we retire, Fran?”

They departed for their quarters, and left a stupefied Basch and Ashe in their wake. Basch came out of his fugue first. “Ashe?”

“Yeah?” She sounded as shaky as she looked.

He glanced at her. “What the hell was _that_ all about?”

She shook her head without looking at him. “I don’t know.” She turned her head. They locked eyes, then, and surprised the hell out of each other by laughing hysterically into each other’s face.

Part 5: The Joke Is On You

After taking their leave of Basch and Ashe, Fran insisted on another sweep of the larders. Balthier was about ready to call foul, when Fran hugged her treasure trove of treacle tarts to her chest and called it a night.

Balthier sighed in relief. “All right, Fran, Are you satisfied?”

Fran held her tarts under her nose and sniffed at them, a beatific expression on her face. “Not really, but I guess this will have to do.” She glared at Balthier. “I would have found more, surely, but _you_ want to go to bed…and it’s only four-thirty in the morning!”

Balthier shook his head bemusedly. “Eat them slowly, please. I’m not getting out of bed until the morning after next. You exhaust me, Fran.”

As they walked the corridor, he looped his arm around her waist, and she leaned her head against his. She twinkled at Balthier. “Is it worth it?”

His encircling arm tightened minutely. “Every second.”

Her smile mellowed, as she bit into a tart. She chewed reflectively. “I’m glad, because…” She stopped suddenly, and cocked her ears. “Do you hear that?”

After listening to nothing at all for a few seconds, Balthier shook his head. “No. What am I listening for?”

“I hear voices.” She took a deep breath, and her face lit up. “And I can smell treacle tarts!”

They stopped in front of a chamber door, and Fran turned to it. “In there.”

Balthier surveyed the corridor. “This is Ashe’s apartments.” He steered Fran away from the chamber door. “Let’s go to bed.”

“But what if she has treacle tarts in there?”

He covered his face with one hand and groaned. “Do you really want to wrestle pastries away from the Queen of Dalmasca at four-thirty in the morning?”

The treacle tart trove found its way into Fran’s dress pocket. She crossed her arms obstinately. “If I have to, Balthier.”

From behind the door, they heard a lazy chuckle. “Is this what you want, Ashe?”

Another voice gasped harshly. “Yes, that’s just right.”

“I thought so,” said Fran. “They have tarts.” She smirked. “And these doors have old-fashioned locks.” She pulled a hair-pin from her glorious silver hair, and knelt before the door. She began to pick the lock. “One second more, and those tarts will be mine!” 

“Gods. Why do I let you get away with this kind of thing?” He glanced at the door. From behind it, Ashe gasped again, and Basch moaned deep in his chest. 

“Oh, Darling! It won't be long, now...”

“Good… _ohh,_ Gods, that’s good…Harder... _harder!_ ”

Balthier covered his eyes with one hand and bit his lip to stay the snort of laughter. He knew the treacle tarts were good, but he didn’t think they were _that_ good. “Fran…I don’t think they’re eating dessert in there…”

“One side,” she said, as she popped the lock and turned the doorknob. She banged the door open with a flourish, and pointed. “A-HA!” 

There was a moment of thunderous silence. Fran’s hand still pointed, but her face faulted outrageously. “Huh?”

Basch and Ashe turned their sweaty, flushed countenances towards the door, and Basch yelled, _“What the HELL, Fran?”_ He grabbed the coverlet that obscured Ashe’s body and primly covered his own. 

Ashe snatched the blanket from Basch’s hands and covered herself. She resumed glaring at Fran. “Out! Get _out!_ ”

Balthier ran in to save the day, and just as quickly turned on his heel and walked out the door, snickering condescendingly. He re-entered, and grabbed Fran’s arm. “I think my eyes are bleeding,” he said to no one in particular. “Good night, you two.” With that, he dragged Fran from Ashe’s _boudoir,_ while Fran shrieked _Treacle tarts! They have treacle tarts!_

The door slammed shut. Panting, the pair turned to gaze at each other. Basch lowered himself to his elbows, and laughed shakily. “At least they had the decency to wait until we were finished.”

“Wonders never cease.” Ashe tilted her chin up and took a deep breath. “I ought to thank you.”

Basch busied himself with her exposed throat, and her sigh turned into a groan of pleasure. “You _are_ joking, right? I’ve waited for this moment for a long time.”

She smiled into his eyes. “You definitely sweetened the deal when you came back looking like you did.”

His eyebrow quirked slightly. “Like my _brother?_ ”

She swatted his arm. “No, buffoon. You looked _wonderful._ ” She ran her fingers along his back. “I missed you.”

Basch swept Ashe’s hair off her sweaty brow, and brought his mouth close to hers. “I missed you, too.” He kissed her, tenderly…and soon enough tenderness gave way to another passionate embrace. He coaxed her lips open with his tongue, and she responded fervently…and then…

Basch broke the embrace, panting. He propped himself on one palm, and ran his free hand through his hair. Surprisingly, he chuckled. Ashe, perplexed, playfully tugged at his whiskers. “What is it?”

He looked at Ashe, and laughed harder. “Did you ever stop to wonder – even _once_ – why Fran has been stalking us for treacle tarts? You didn’t consider why she smelled them all over us…?”

She glanced at Basch sidelong, and her lips twisted wryly. “What did you _do?_ ”

He raised his eyebrows mock-innocently, and leaned over Ashe’s body to open her nightstand drawer. He reached in, and pulled out a treacle tart. He held it between his thumb and his forefinger before Ashe’s face. Basch grinned wolfishly, and waggled it. “I’ve been hiding them in your room.”

Ashe glared at Basch incredulously. She sat up slightly and peered into the drawer. There must have been a hundred treacle tarts contained therein. She darted her gaze back to Basch, and laughed uproariously with him. “You hid _all_ the treacle tarts in here?”

Basch shrugged, and lowered himself to his elbows again. He held the tart out to Ashe with a smile. “Care for one, Majesty?”


End file.
